


Memories of Old Friends

by Milomus2



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Gen, Young Cap'n Cuttlefish, Young DJ Octavio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milomus2/pseuds/Milomus2
Summary: DJ Octavio and Cap'n Cuttlefish, though great enemies now, were once pictured in a lost file as having been friends. Whatever happened that they would meet? And how did they part so violently? Two old souls look back on when time was kind and young, remembering old friends for better or for worse.





	1. Reminiscence, Reluctance, and Ambition.

Cap’n Cuttlefish took a seat in his shack, waiting for a batch of crabby cakes to finish up. Of course, Octavio took the opportunity to escape. It was somewhat like clockwork, their little game. Cuttlefish was almost disappointed when he’d stopped coming back to kidnap him a few years back, and he suspected that this time would be no different. After all, agents 1 and 2 had been in charge of him as of late, and with the change in the guard his old strategy of appealing to agent 1’s pride wouldn’t cut it. He sighed, thinking back to times when perhaps they could have held some conversation over cakes rather than this…

Octavio returned to his quarters back in Octo Valley, dismissing a couple Octolings who were maintaining it as he did so. He sat down to begin plotting his next move, when he noticed something amiss. He kept an old woven basket in one corner, and where it was meant to contain an aged set of Wasabi sticks and a small package, it seems someone decided to remove the sticks. He grudgingly went to where the rest of the sticks were stored, a drawer in his stereo set, and pulled the old ones out. That’s usually where they ended up when cleaners did it wrong. He set the sticks back in the basket, and couldn’t help being reminded of an old friend. He went back to his plots, but his mind couldn’t help a walk down memory lane…

____________________________________________________________________________

Cuttlefish made his usual patrol on the border of Inkopolis, a route that consisted largely of walking by a forest, one the Octarians insisted on keeping maintained even though the Inklings had largely cut the trees down on their side, to make way for new developments. It wasn’t an eventful route, as not many octolings would walk through the woods to try and cross the border, but often if someone did, they weren’t exactly the sort you wanted to cross. Hence, their best sniper being put on the most boring route. Or at least, the highest scoring on the entry exam. To be frank, he was somewhat green on the Squidbeak Splatoon, a small splatoon maintained to avoid international incident.

Today it seemed, was one of the days where he might actually meet someone. An octoling, dressed in a samurai’s garb, appeared from the trees, making an approach towards the border. As was policy, he shot a line of ink on the border about where the octoling would cross, and swam over to meet them, bamboozler raised and ready. Then, the standard question. “Halt! What is your business here?”

The samurai-dressed fellow was an octoling named Octavio. And his response was one he knew would puzzle the inkling he was looking at, one with oddly pale tentacles and similar ink. “My business is curiosity. I would like to talk with you as you patrol.” He then simply smiled, holding out his arms to show that he wasn’t even armed. 

Predictably, Cuttlefish was mentally disarmed by the situation. There… was nothing in his training, or his practice, about what to do in this scenario. So… “I guess that’s alright.” He lowered his trusty Bamboozler, and offered a hand to shake. The two of them shook hands, an odd energy sparking between them in that moment.

They recognized in each other, in that moment, power and possibilities. And given their mutual ambitions, they proceeded to nod and grin at the other. 

“I’m Cuttlefish, future captain of the Squidbeak Splatoon if I have my way.”

“I look forward to your service. I’m Octavio, future general of the Octarian Forces, if I have my way.”

“I look forward to it. Let’s walk.” And with the introductions out of the way, the two continued Cuttlefish’s patrol.

After a moment’s silence, Cuttlefish was the one to rekindle the conversation. “So what is it you’re curious about, anyways?”

Octavio shrugged before answering. “I was curious as to why the need for a border patrol exists. We live in a time of peace, don’t we?”

Cuttlefish brightened, glad to exposit. “We do, and its important that that remain the case. See, there’s still crime on both sides, and some folks might get it into their head to cross to flee the law, or perhaps to offend the law on the other side. Both of these cases risk national incident, and Inklings, being… what’s the word…”

“Lazy?” The octoling supplied, a smirk showing on his features.

Cutttlefish groaned. “I was gonna say ‘inclined to get the most result out of minimal efforts’, but go ahead and stereotype. Point is, international incident means the higher-ups have to do more work. And since we aren’t that big on big organizations to begin with, it is understandably aggravating.”

 

Octavio shook his head. “The efforts you folk go through to avoid having to organize amaze me. But enough of that. Are there really that many attempts to cross for nefarious reasons? I can’t imagine either of our noble lands attempting to sabotage the other.”

Cuttlefish looked at him curiously. “You don’t pay much attention to the news, huh?”

Octavio gestured to the trees. “I tend to prefer my own observations.”

Cuttlefish shook his head with a smile, as if pitying Octavio’s ignorance. “Tensions are somewhat high between your folk and mine. The matter of land distribution is a hot topic. The border we stand on is a fine example.” He gestured to the deforested land on the inkling border. “Where you maintain forests, we see room to expand and progress civilization further. You see destroyed land on our side. Your emperor seeks to reclaim the land we haven’t built on yet and revitalize it, our citizens want to see more construction and progress. At present there’s no major action being made by either side, but the desire to incite an incident and settle things once and for all, before proper negotiations can be made, tempts both sides. Besides that, what criminals we do have may seek to cross for legal reasons.”

Octavio was silent for a time. “Do you think you would do a better job, if you were in charge of the situation?”

Cuttlefish stopped walking for a moment, processing the question. It seemed a heavy matter to him. “Perhaps. At least I’d be making more efforts towards that negotiation. Inklings tend not to like focusing on the negative news, so not much gets done about it.” He looked the octoling in the eyes. “Do you think you would do a better job?”

Octavio didn’t give nearly as much thought to the matter, and answered with conviction. “Yes. I would lead the people such that an incident would be avoided, at least on our part. And assuming someone like you lead the other side,” He grinned at the inkling. “I would do my best to work together towards a better future for both of us.”

Cuttlefish smiled, and stuck out a hand. “Well, general Octavio, I look forward to seeing your rise in power. Perhaps if we stick together we can truly unite forces in some distant day.”

Octavio accepted the handshake. “I hope so, Captain Cuttlefish. Unity is a noble goal, and if throwing my chips in with you would help us get there, then consider me your brother in arms.”

The two of them stood there, hand in hand and full of ambition, for about 5 seconds.

Then they laughed. Octavio gave his new friend a slap on the back, and said “Holy carp man, try not to ham it up so much. It’s not like we can really say anything solid about our futures at this point.”

Cuttlefish laughed a moment longer, before replying “I mean, sure. But you gotta admit, that’ll make a neat scene in our autobiographies, or at least to look back on.”

Octavio chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. I should probably head back to my home, I have training to do if I am to be eligible for a role in the military.”

Cuttlefish nodded. “I have another round to make, before I call it a day and head home myself. Good day, friend. I hope to see you again.”


	2. Questions, Lives, and Oddities

Octavio walked through the woods on the Inkopolis border, wearing considerably more casual clothing than in his last meeting with the patrol guard, though they were still very strongly traditional clothing, consisting of a basic kimono and sandals. He still wore the sort-of helmet from the samurai’s outfit he wore when he first met the guard. Partly to play into the themes of ambition that they seemed to share, and partially since he figured the inkling might poke some fun at it. Whether that was good fun or mean-spirited would prove a nice judge of his new “friend”’s character.

As it was though, he didn’t have a meeting spot arranged with the guard. So he just strolled through the woods as usual, somewhat aware that he may have a bit more anticipation of meeting his friend than enjoyment of the forest. Perhaps troubling, but perhaps a sign only that he’s found an argument against the solitude he often enjoyed. Further investigation would be necessary.

A shot of near-white ink crossed his path, interrupting his thoughtfulness. Noting how a greener tint appeared near the edges of the pool, he smiled and bowed as a ripple came towards him in the ink.

“Why if it isn’t the mighty General! Ready to command his forces on a moment’s notice I see.” Octavio shook his head as he rose and looked at the source of the quip. The guard from yesterday, Cuttlefish. Wearing a simple uniform, a blue dress shirt, khakis, boots and a distinctive cap bearing the mark of the Squidbeak Splatoon. The inkling lowered his Bamboozler, a standard weapon for the Squidbeaks as far as Octavio was aware.

As the two shared a firm handshake, Octavio responded. “Indeed. And I seem to have chanced upon the great Captain Cuttlefish. Stuck on guard duty, still?”

Cuttlefish laughed. “The things they make Captains do these days. Nice to see you can, in fact, make a joke.” He moved to continue his patrol, inviting the octoling to join him with a wave. “Got another question for me?”

Octavio nodded, as he moved into step alongside the inkling. “I was hoping to perhaps learn a bit more about you. If we’re committed to rising together we ought to know each other somewhat. I admit the first thing that strikes me is your ink. Most inklings I am aware of have strongly hued tentacles and similar ink, yet yours are largely pale, barring a gradient to green at the tips. Similarly, your ink only shows green around the edge. Is that more common than I thought, or is there something special about it?”

The captain nodded and removed his cap, as if emphasizing his tentacles as the topic of the conversation. “It’s a bit of an oddity, yes. It’s a trait carried through my family that tends to get different names for how different people use it. But the short version is, the white pigment is some chemical that naturally inhibits most things. Mostly in that it creates ink with a higher thickness than usual, and has calming and revitalizing effect if you learn how to fire it without getting any of your ‘natural’ color with it.” He put his hat back on. “I haven’t really had much use for any of its special qualities, but it’s certainly set me apart from the average inkling.”

“How unique. I suppose at least the thickness would serve well as border guard but I don’t imagine it doing much more than ruining your weapon’s durability otherwise.” Octavio took another look at the Bamboozler. “I assume that somewhat limits your choice of weapons?”

Cuttlefish shrugged. “I suppose so. Chargers usually aren’t so bad though, since the thickness just lets it build more pressure before firing. That’s lead to the pressure chambers on some blowing out, but the Bamboozler’s pretty trusty.” He turned to Octavio. “On a different note, is it alright if I ask you some questions?”

“I suppose it’s only fair, given how many I’ve asked of you.”

Cuttlefish took a moment to come up with his own questions, before asking “I’ve got my ink, do you have anything in particular that separates you from others?”

Octavio looked nervous, a change from his usual stoic confidence. After a moments hesitation, he resigned himself to what he supposed was the clear course of action “I suppose so. I, ah, well it might be easier to show you.”

With that, his body turned purple and began to change shape, a pretty ordinary transition from humanoid to cephalopod form so far. But unlike most transitions, he didn’t fall down. Instead, his body seemed to burst outwards, and after that, the transition concluded and Cuttlefish was staring at a massive octopus, his own mouth agape. The transition quickly reversed, Octavio blushing furiously. “I would prefer if you’d not look at me quite so strangely. I’m not terribly fond of that particular quirk of my existence.”

Cuttlefish gathered himself. “Why not? Holy zapfish man, you could use your own body as an attack, assuming you had enough of a runway of ink leading up to it.” He laughed a little. “Your existence is like one non-stop Kraken special!”

Octavio tilted his head. “Kraken special? What’s a special?”

“They’re power-ups we’ve been experimenting with putting in weapons. Once enough ink is on the ground, we can activate some effect for a couple seconds. A friend of mine is pretty sure he can extend the duration a bit, but his attempts at tinkering with these things tends to be pretty amateur. But we’re trying to ask about you right now. What’s your life like back in the Octarian nation like? Got any other friends besides me? Hobbies?”

Octavio lightly elbowed the inkling. “Hey, I haven’t gotten nearly that personal with my questions, how dare you take advantage of the opportunity to get my life’s story? Besides, I want to know more about the specials.”

Cuttlefish grinned. “Pardon me for taking the opportunity you waited on. I can’t imagine those questions comprise your entire life though. If you remind me, I’ll introduce you to my friend, the one who’s working on the things”

Octavio gave a resigned smile. “Alright, well, I don’t really have ‘friends’ in the sense that you probably do. I do have squadmates however. We share quarters, and should the arenas be open, we might go play our own turf wars. Normally though, they’re out at work or something. Soldiers like myself don’t often have other jobs though, our training is meant to be more important than that. Which, I suppose, brings me to hobbies. Normally I’m either practicing combat skills, or doing something a little more enjoyable: Engineering.”

Cuttlefish laughed once more. “I really ought to introduce you to Pappy, he’s the tinkerer I mentioned. Sounds like you two might have some fun geeking out about mechanics if I know where this is going.”

“Try not to interrupt. But yes, it is something of a passion of mine. I’ve actually been playing with repurposing old machines as weapons. I have particularly high hopes for this old set of turntables, though trying to make rotations that deviate from the normal rate function as a control method has proven much more difficult than I’d hoped. Some people have suggested that I invest in a Minion Maker for the finer bits of engineering, but I have doubts that any minion made from my tentacles would be very good for a fine-detail project.”

Cuttlefish nodded, before something caught his eye. “Hold on, I want to know what you mean by that but first…” He lifted the bamboozler up, and shot it out ahead, by a denser part of the woods they walked the edge of. He swam through, and popped up just long enough to fire off another shot, and disappeared into the woods.

Octavio, not having a weapon of his own to make a trail with, ran alongside the ink, trying to catch up. He made it in time to see an octoling’s essence flying back to whatever spawn kettle it last visited, and Cuttlefish holding some confiscated bag. “What happened?”

Cuttlefish lead the way back to the border, speaking matter-of-factly. “Octoling trying to get an unauthorized sponge across. Usually it’s to either cram somewhere and fill up, causing some property damage when it expands. Had a rash of incidents around a year before I joined the forces, so it’s another thing to watch out for. What were you saying about minion makers though?”

Octavio shrugged. “They’re not too special, it just happens that if you clone a tentacle and wrap the base in something, given some time it’ll create a half-sentient creature. We just throw the term Octarian at them. No one knows why we call them what other nations call us, the name’s just sorta stuck for a while. You see them a lot in the media, since most scientists prefer sticking mustaches on them and using them as messengers and public representatives, but you can use them to do some neat stuff in machinery if you do it right.”

Cuttlefish tilted his head. “Why would scientists go through the effort of making a clone rather than represent themselves? Especially since you octolings are so quick to make us look lazy generally.”

Octavio’s response was blunt. “Octoling scientists are generally nerds who are married to their work 5 times over. Some people joke that they spent so much time refining cloning only so they’d never have to leave the lab, and the assistance in engineering was only a bonus.”

“Huh.” Cuttlefish took a moment to picture it, before asking another question. “I’m running low on questions here, but what’s with your clothing? I mean, I’m in uniform, but for a future general and engineer, the look seems odd. Not to mention the ornate helmet? Pretty unusual appearance, just saying.”

Octavio re-examined his appearance. “I suppose I could see it being unusual. I simply like to show my respect to tradition in how I dress. The kimono and sandals were typical of octolings for some time, especially those in office. As for the helmet, most generals make their own helmet as a display of personality and craft. I’ve just gotten a head start on mine. Though, I make it a point not to wear it around officials if I can. I certainly wouldn’t want to be held back for posing a threat to their office.”

Cuttlefish nodded, his mind turning to matters closer to his being. Or in plainer terms, his stomach. “That’s interesting. Hey, you hungry?”

Octavio paused, the question’s simplicity and spontaneity catching him by surprise. “I guess so, why?”

“I bake sometimes, and I was trying to decide if I ought to bring some of my cakes next time. I call ‘em crabby cakes, my friends love them. Usually ONLY my friends, weirdly enough. I’ve just decided they make as good a judge of moral character as anything else.”

Octavio frowned. “Sounds to me like your cakes are bad and they’re trying to protect your dignity.”

Cuttlefish looked at him, grinning. “Yeah, I thought that too. But no matter how much I emphasized how much it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t like them, they insisted they were some damn good cakes. I’ll bring some, you’ll either love them or hate them, and if it’s the latter I’ll be glad to say I have a friend who’s taste buds aren’t powered by the magic of friendship.”

Octavio couldn’t help a laugh at idea of friendship powered taste. “We’ll see. Perhaps I could bring some food from home and we could share a lunch?”

Cuttlefish smiled. “Sounds like a fun plan.” He looked around and checked his watch. “Well, my patrol’s just about up. Meet up tomorrow with food then?”

Octavio nodded. “Count on it. Is there some place I could reliably run into you?”

“Well, Patrol starts around 9 AM. I know you octolings are early risers, maybe you can meet me at the guard house? Can’t really miss it, north of the forest with a big ol’ watchtower. I’ll tell the tower guys not to pay you any mind.”

“Very well then. See you tomorrow, Captain.”

“I look forward to it, General.”


End file.
